


Degausser

by Davechicken, shesgottheknife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag to 6.20, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesgottheknife/pseuds/shesgottheknife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goodbye to love,<br/>Well it's a ride that'll push you up<br/>Right against the wall<br/>(Right against the wall)<br/>Chew it up and swallow it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Degausser

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jondiesattheend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jondiesattheend/gifts).



> Happy birthday Scotty.

I brushed off my coat. That damn angel had left again, this time with a threat. Perhaps I’d pushed him too far this time? What was I even doing working with him? An angel with the ability to smite me in the blink of an eye: he was much more powerful than I cared to admit, even to myself. I know, I know: I’m the King of Hell, but still I knew that behind that untidy coat and hair there was one of the Lord Almighty’s feathered ~~monsters~~ soldiers, and with just a flash of his Grace he could send my smoke to the four corners of the planet. Angels and demons were enemies for a reason. Even the most rebellious of all - Lucifer - the person who seemed to be Castiel’s role model of late (all my jokes about ‘the New God’ aside) and father of demon-kind… Even Lucifer, who made us, wanted nothing more than to wipe us all out. Why should Castiel be any different?

And what was that about _’everything’?_. What did he mean? “ _I’ll tear it all down. Our arrangement, **everything**_.” 

I turned to look at the wall again. He had been angry with me before, sure. But he’d not lashed out with that much _strength,_ that much…

I shuddered to think how close I’d been to being reduced to bits, not unlike that wall. A quick snap and it was good as new. On the surface, anyway. The cracks were covered over, but underneath they were still broken. ~~Much like our arrangement, it seemed.~~

The damned bird had rattled me, and now I couldn’t even remember what I’d been doing before he’d appeared _oh so dramatically_. It’s not often that I’m flustered, and I felt… I felt a little out of control. Castiel was supposed to be my little angel puppet. He was supposed to bark at things I set him on, he was supposed to fetch and carry and listen to my master plan - I had masterminded the whole thing after all - but the damned angel was… of course… a rebel still. It’s why I’d chosen him, and it was also going to be the end of this if I couldn’t find some way to control him again. Some leash, some… leverage, some way to get him to co-operate. It would have to be the Winchesters, one way or another, but I couldn’t quite work out how, yet.

The Winchesters. Those damned, bloody fools. I had no control over the bird while he was still so attached to them. His precious little pets...or was he their pet? I really couldn’t tell at this point. What I did know was that I needed the angel on my side. Even if not one hundred percent Team Crowley, as long as the scales tipped in my favor, this would work. _It had to._

We should probably discuss the whole threat thing, but I wasn’t sure if it was the best idea to piss off an already angry celestial being. Still, I was always one to take chances I probably shouldn’t; so, with a growl, I called him back to me. If I let him get away with thinking he wore the trousers in this relationship then it was a slippery slope down. He had to believe he was my equal (and no better) but actually to just do what I wanted. Normally I could get that to work, but… Castiel… He was more complicated than the humans and demons I normally worked with.

“I know you’re listening in,” I called out, examining my cuffs as if I really didn’t care. “If you’ve quite finished with your toddler tantrum and want to talk business with Daddy like an adult…?”

A pause. He really was acting like a baby, throwing his angelic pacifier out of the stroller, wasn’t he? I let myself feel smug for all of thirty-seven seconds before he was back. He appeared back in the room… closer than he had any right to. Which was new. The sudden lack of personal space was… disconcerting to say the least.

“I am not childish, Crowley.”

“Could’ve had me fooled with your little fit. You were all but flailing about on the floor and pulling your own hair out,” I smirked. Yes, good plan. Keep on antagonizing the creature who could kill you as soon as look at you. Well done. Maybe if I was bold enough, he’d not realise he had more cards in his hand than I did, when it came to the power front. Weaker than Raphael he might be, but a Seraph was a Seraph was a bloody pain in the arse.

“Did you call me back here simply to insult me, Crowley, or was there a reason for you demanding I return? I am not simply at your ‘beck and call’.” The angel was standing too close, much too close, his nostrils flaring and his jaw set, and I couldn’t tell if he wanted to hit me or…

Ah. Yes. _Kiss me_. From the way his eyes were shot-black through the heavenly blue, the way his vessel’s cheeks were pink with rage, the hands by his sides bunched into fists. Of course I’d felt the _frisson_ of attraction between us, who couldn’t? The angel was a walking, smouldering sex-symbol, even despite his appalling taste in clothing. I’d appreciated that even before our deal-sealing kiss. I’m not blind. But he’s an angel, and I’m a demon, and for all my offers of ‘happy endings’ I’d not actually thought he’d ever… well. _Catch on._

I was, however, not stupid enough to act on it. Baiting him was one thing, but I did like to live, you know. And asking to put some additional clauses onto our arrangement just to get another chance with that pretty, soft little mouth of his pressed to mine… no, Crowley. Down, demon. 

“Castiel… whether you like it or not, you are ‘at my beck and call’,” I even threw in some air-quotes, because the blasted angel had annoyed me enough. “We still have strategy to discuss, and if you’re going to be calm for five minutes, perhaps we can work through our issues like adults, instead of--”

“Instead of what,” came the growl. Much lower than it needed to be. Oh god, but that growl… _did things_ to me.

“Instead of acting out like a bloody _child_ on a playground who lost their favorite swing!”

“Crowley. I have never _been_ a child. As I reminded you - as you seem to have somehow forgotten--” hands on my coat again, “--I am an _angel_ \--” the words were whispered against my ear, “--and not a child. Not a human. Not a demon.” Hands tightening, threatening disrepair on the seams of my fine suit. “I think, perhaps, _you_ are the childish one. You always have to have the last word, don’t you? That’s what this is about. You think you’re **better** than me, when you’re not.”

‘I know you are, I said you are, so what am I?’ jumped into my head, unbidden. Honestly, this conversation was degenerating faster than the last. We were just going to throw the same old insults back and forth, back and forth like a hot potato, weren’t we? My lofty ideals of putting the little shit back in his place were… well. faintly ludicrous. Castiel was not so easily subdued as a demon-minion, couldn’t be rattled into place by a show of bravado, and we were going to be trading babyish insults forever at this rate. I shoved at the hands, trying to push them off my jacket, but the angel would not be moved so easily. Tighter still, his fists clenched, throwing me across the room and into another wall with a loud crack. I stood immediately, brushing off my suit once more and was back in front of him in a blink.

My hands on _his_ coat now because I refused to be thrown around by someone who was supposed to be on equal footing with me. “And you think _you’re_ better than me. Why? Because you’re an **angel**? That’s a little ‘holier than thou’, isn’t it? Or is it just characteristic of an angel to be an _ass_?”

Oh Crowley, this was insane. Even I knew that, but something about Castiel just… _itched_ , just _rankled_ , just made my hackles rise. And - hah - maybe I had something of a death-wish, too, because he’d thrown me about and what did I do but call him back and _ask for more_.

I got more. With a broad swipe of his arm, I was sent flying across a table - face-first - sending things clattering all over and _this was a good suit why was he ruining it?_ I was fast enough to put my hands up and protect my face when I slid off the table and onto the floor, but not fast enough to save everything. I blinked and raised my hand to wipe at my mouth - a smear of blood - and frowned up at the angel stalking over to me. 

“I meant what I said, _demon_. I will end this. I will end **everything**.” 

He towered over me, glaring down past that bloody ridiculous skew-whiff tie, staring down at me on the floor like I was some kind of beaten dog, waiting for me to lick at his shoes and fawn and beg for forgiveness. I was no dog, and I would not be brought down so easily.

I was back on my feet. “You won’t end it,” I growled. “Because you _like_ it. You like the whole dealing with a devil thing, the corruption. You won’t admit it, because you’re an ‘angel’ and all that jazz. You’re not supposed to enjoy doing the dirty work of a _demon_... but you **do**. I can see it in your eyes, Cas. It’s dark in there,” I smirked, daring to stand much too close. “It’s dangerous… and you _feed off it_.. dare I say, get off on it?” another smirk.

That made him snarl. That made his lip curl. That made him furious. I was treading on thin ice, here, I knew. But I knew I was right, too. I knew because instead of this just being some political deal like it would have been with Raphael - Hell, even with Lucifer - Castiel was not doing this solely for the power I could provide in the forms of souls. It was not a simple transactional agreement, an easy contract signed with services rendered and due like for like. He _enjoyed_ this. He enjoyed it because he liked to rebel. He liked to say no. He liked to think for himself. He liked to work with _me_. Power is corrupting. More so than power, is… danger. The angel liked to take a walk on the wild side. Maybe flying down for the Righteous Dick had left a little taint of Hell inside his blazing bloody Grace. Maybe he’d tasted freedom, and it had driven him mad. Or maybe it was just me.

(Probably not me. But a demon could dream, too, couldn’t he? Castiel was not the only one with an ego, not the only one with pride.)

His hands were balled into fists of rage, and there behind his blue eyes was a brighter, lighter blue. The air crackled, and the light fixtures above us fizzled and threatened to explode out. I’d prefer he _didn’t_ blow the electrics, because I wasn’t sure if you could just snap away Heavenly damage to a property as a demon, and I didn’t much want to call in an electrician. Plus, if the lights went, how would I be able to see the way his jaw clenched around the words he didn’t dare say? Or the way his shoulders rose and fell, like the wings behind him were desperate to burst into the world and batter at me, to blow me over, to break me.

He didn’t answer. It was answer enough.

I should stop.

I should.

“What’s the matter, kitten? Don’t like the world knowing that you’re a blood-thirsty tiger? Want to pretend you’re cute, that you’re a guardian angel with your shiny golden halo? Want them to think you’re oh-so-bloody-perfect? Want to live the lie you’re doing this only for Heaven, and not because you **want to**?”

“You don’t know me, demon,” he seethed through clenched teeth. Had I struck a nerve? I smirked, eyes locked on the angel’s. This was a _bad_ idea. But I couldn’t stop myself.

“How long until they find out, sweetheart? How long until your precious Winchesters see right through that façade you’re projecting? Deep down you already know it’s a lie. Is it so bad, enjoying this? I know I do.” I was still smirking. What was wrong with me? I was convinced, by this point, that I truly _did_ have a death wish. “Sweet little righteous Castiel, corrupted by the King,” I said, shaking my head, physically unable to _not_ smirk at this point. “Let’s face it. I can give you things your precious little humans can’t, and that’s why you come running back to Daddy.”

The seraph had his hand around my throat in a heartbeat, lifting me bodily from the floor and stopping the words by stopping the air to my lungs. I grabbed at his hands, but it was pointless. He was stronger - would always be stronger - and I scratched at the floor with the toes of my shoes, trying to alleviate the pressure of being choked. Damnit, I was enjoying even _this_ too much. Castiel gave me a run for my money in a way no one else could. I might be the King, but he? Was Heaven’s Finest. 

“You give me nothing, _demon_. Your control of Hell is not assured. You’re all… **words**. Smoke and mirrors. And I’m not going to listen to your lies and filth any more. You are nothing to me.” 

If I was nothing, why was there such a fire in his eyes? Why was the hand around my throat clammy? Why was there that strange little swallowing when he finished speaking? I knew it. I knew it. I just had to reach out and…

Castiel threw me across the room with all the power of Heaven in his arm. I landed back-first, slamming my head into sheet glass that crashed around me. It knocked the wind from my chest, and the sense from my head, leaving me dizzy and dazed. I fell forwards onto my hands, slicing my palms open and leaving them bloody and raw, and panted heavily. He was going to kill me, if I wasn’t careful. But this was no longer about simply showing him who was boss, was it? I was enjoying this too. I was enjoying running my mouth off and getting… punished for it… and he was enjoying pretending to be all perfect and holy and really loving the corruption as much as I loved the flickers of Heaven around me. An angel who wanted to be damned, and a demon who wanted to be chastised. We were perfect together. Of course we were.

I stayed there, on my hands and knees, looking back at the angel. I licked the blood from the corner of my mouth and he was in front of me in a second. Looking down at me - no - **on** me, with that damn self-righteous, condescending stare. ~~And I fucking loved it.~~ He pulled me up once more, a hand around the back of my neck like I was the fucking kitten I accused him of being, and I grabbed at his wrist with bloodied hands that hurt to hold on with. My chest was tight, my head was spinning, my dick was hard and if it had been anyone else I would have said ‘buy me dinner first, darling’. But this was Castiel, and Castiel was a fine line between bloody misery and exhilaration, and…

“Shut your mouth,” Castiel growled at me, but I don’t think he meant it because then his mouth was on mine, and his lips were against mine, and the growling continued but reverberated from his chest, up his throat, past his mouth and into my own. I held on tighter - pain be damned - and _god_ but I just wanted to melt. Wanted to swoon like some winsome bloody damsel in distress being romanced by the Byronic anti-hero. This wasn’t like the deal-kiss, which had been short, sharp, sweet and had left me vaguely pleased, but without any hope for anything else. A deal, nothing more. A contract signed. A receipt, a pact. 

But this was not that at all. This was…

This was a **kiss**. The kind of kiss you don’t walk away from with straight legs. I didn’t even know he was tugging my tie, not properly, not in the moment. My lips were slightly parted, and I could taste his breath between, I could feel the pounding of his vessel’s heart and _oh God help me I was so lost_. I tried to suck on his tongue, tried to get him to deepen the kiss, but I was rewarded with a shove back, and a half-pace between us. I felt punch-drunk, strung-out and horny as all Hell. Damn. **Damn**. I wanted more, but I was wary of pushing for it in case it made the angel remember himself and bolt. In case I recalled our positions to him. 

I ran my tongue over my lips - more to taste him there, than anything else - and my bloodied hands still clutched at his wrist, leaving messy palm-prints over the pale expanse of desert-still sand. He could snap it all off. He could snap every trace of me from his clothing, from his skin. But no amount of snapping would remove the feel of me, would it? No. And no amount of magic would take the taste of Hell from his mouth, much as I could not forget Heaven.

I still wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill or kiss me most. Maybe both. Maybe he’d be so disgusted with my filthy demon self, that when he’d taken his fill of me he’d snap me into nothing, so no one would know his dirty little secret. So no one would know the soon-to-be-confirmed King of Hell was his bit on the side. So no one would know he _burned_ inside with the need for my sin on his skin.

“You were saying?”

I can’t keep my mouth shut. One day, it will be the death of me, it will. I’m sure.

He wanted to end me, I could see. He wanted to end me because he was ashamed of himself. Because he knew what he wanted, and because he didn’t like me knowing too… but he hadn’t ended me yet. If he did, he’d never get what he craved so badly. If he destroyed me, he’d never have _me_.

“Shut up.”

“...make me.”

It was a cheap line, but why did I need to use good ones on Castiel? Not like he was a jaded customer. And it was cliché for a reason, you know.

My own thoughts were interrupted as my knees hit the floor again, the angel’s hand pulling at my hair, forcing my gaze to meet his own. I flicked my tongue out over my lips once more, not for me this time...for _him_ . It must’ve had the desired effect because he was hastily undoing the buckle of his belt. “I **will** ,” he growled, pulling his dick out and shoving it in my mouth. 

I have to say, I hadn’t expected _that_. For all the angel was good at kissing, he’d always seemed the… retentive type? Like he didn’t even know he had the essential parts, let alone what to do with them. But who was I to judge? Here I was, bloodied and bruised and my suit - my beautiful suit - torn to shreds, on my knees before an angel, with my head held back and a cock sliding past my lips. Cas was a big boy, but not so big that I couldn’t open wide and slide my tongue underneath his shaft. It had been a while, I’ll admit, but I still knew what to do. I still knew how to tongue along the bottom of his dick, how to swallow, how to purr into the hot flesh.

My eyes met his, but his were inscrutable and dark, a blind pulled between himself and the world. Between himself and… himself, I suppose. Most likely he was in some form of heavy internal denial about this. About… us. Everything. The electricity that sparked and that made the hair on the back of my neck bristle, even as his fingers moved down to hold me still. An uncomfortable swallow, and then Cas was guiding my head over his dick, was fucking my face over his cock. I clutched at his pants as I tried to make it good, tried to give him what he so obviously craved. (Me, too. I hadn’t known how much I’d needed this: to be made to kneel, King or not. To be made to serve with my mouth. To be used for pleasure…) 

Before long, it wasn’t a case of finesse or skill. Cas was wound up tighter than a virgin on her wedding night, and I wondered if he’d even done this before? Had anyone ever touched this leaking prick? Had he shoved it past lips - higher or lower - or into a hole, or into a hand? Had he even wrapped his own hand around it? If not, it explained a lot. Explained the constant growl in his voice. Explained the stiffness in his stance. Explained why suddenly I was held still as his hips worked, as he shoved himself down my throat like a conquering general. It hurt, it made my eyes sting, but my god did it feel good. I clutched tighter and held on as he used me, abused me. I took it all and I promised more with eyes that drifted shut. I hadn’t even touched my own cock, which was as hard as a fucking rock now, and begging for me to touch it. Self-denial could be fun at times, though. Times like this when I wanted to memorise every last little grunt he made, every scratch of his nails over my neck, every thrust against the back of my throat which would leave me hoarse all night. 

His other hand wrapped itself around the back of my head and _shoved_ against him as pushed as far into my mouth as he could with a particularly distressed sounding grunt of pure bliss. He held me still as he snarled something that sounded an **awful** lot like my name as I felt the hot spurts against the back of my throat. I moved my hands up to cup his ass, to pull him closer (as if I could).

I felt his body relax and he bent over a bit before sliding out of my mouth. I continued sucking in until he withdrew with a _pop_. I licked my lips, looking back up at him, taking a finger to wipe at the corner with a smile. My own dick was beyond aching at this point and I couldn’t help but wonder… _now what?_

There was that strange little swallowing motion again, and god but I wondered what his mouth would feel like on my dick. I bet he hadn’t done that. I bet no one had plundered that soft mouth of his for more than maybe kisses. I bet he’d never choked on dick before, and I wished I had the nerve to surge to my feet and make him repay the favour. To see an angel of the Lord praying with his mouth to the King of Hell. Wouldn’t that just be peachy? But I could tell that would be one step too far - for now - and I could also tell by the invisible ruffle of feathers that he was already regretting this, even though he’d enjoyed it, and he was already two puffs away from flapping off and leaving me wanting.

He said nothing. I expected that. He’d meant to silence me - and he had, for a while - but instead he’d broken his own voice on my name. He wasn’t going to kneel for me, he wasn’t going to give me his lips, or even his hand. And his ass? Fine as it was, I wasn’t going to get that, either. Had to pick and choose your battles at times. 

I lifted my hands from his ass - and he stepped further back, as if freed - and I spat on them. Rubbed my fingers into my palms, and cleared up the scratches from before. I left the blood, though, because if all this senseless violence told me anything, it was that the angel _liked_ it. Maybe it was the bodily fluid he felt most comfortable in producing in others, maybe it was sublimation.

“If you feel vaguely dirty,” I told him, as I reached down to my own belt buckle and slid it open. “It means you’ve done it right. Sex is supposed to be filthy. And fun. Supposed to make your toes curl up.” 

He said nothing, only watched carefully as I made a bit of a show of undoing my own trousers. The flicker of his pink tongue against his lips told me I hadn’t crossed a line and I slightly tilted my head. Of course he’d be a bit of a voyeur, curious as he was. So when I _finally_ wrapped a hand around my own dick, I made sure not to look away from him. My non-patience was stretched to its limit, though, and I stroked my cock as slow as I could, twisting my hand. Admittedly, holding the angel’s gaze and still feeling him hitting the back of my throat was all a bit much, my strokes faster than I’d meant. He didn’t move, he just watched me there on my knees, jerking myself off like a cheap whore.

“You like to watch, don’t you?” I growled. “You must know all I can think about is your dick my mouth, don’t you? Or…” I grinned. “Other places…” I waited a moment making sure he wasn’t going to fly away. When he didn’t, I continued. “You enjoyed it, Cas. There’s no denying it. A demon sucked you off and you enjoyed it,” I said, knowing I should quit while I was ahead. “Heaven’s finest and Hell’s soon to be King. Quite the pair.”

I was stroking myself harder, faster now. The seraph was still there, still watching me get off on my knees in front of him. “You **are** a dirty fucking angel and there is _no_ way around that.”

He squinted, clearly angry at my words, but he stayed. He stayed to watch me on my knees in front of him. Faster, harder still I pulled and twisted at my aching dick. Castiel’s breaths were heavier now, a bit… ragged? Or was that just me? I couldn’t tell at this point. I licked my lips again, still tasting him there. I could feel it building up, threatening to crash over me. 

“Cas,” I breathed. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you, angel?” I glanced at his hands. God, but I wanted them on my dick right now, but my own would do just fine. Castiel still had his eyes on my - on my hand - watching it move as fast as I dared to let it before I couldn’t hold back any longer: I let his name out in a growl as I came. Sort of an homage to him just minutes before. I wanted him to know I heard it. I heard the angel breathe _my_ name out in ecstasy. There was no denying it. 

I wanted to keep my eyes on his as I spent myself, but I couldn’t. They drifted shut as my pleasure overtook me, and my hand was shaking as I pulled every last drop from my too-heavy balls. How long had they been blue, then? How long had both of us been dancing this dance, neither one prepared to make the first real move? I came all over my hand and sputtered on the floor, on the broken glass and smudged footprints, on the angel’s shoes. The aftermath left me woozy and thrilled with how wrong it was, my breathing levelling out. God, it had felt good. And now he’d had a taste, I knew the angel would be back for more. Better. Harder. **Dirtier**. He had a taste for the macabre that at least equalled if not outdid my own. 

There was a snappy comment on my lips, a double-entendre, a promise of more… but when I looked up from his cum-smeared shoes… Castiel had gone.

And I was left kneeling in the wreckage of our lover’s tryst: a broken lab reeking of sex, fear and… worse.

He was going to come back.

Our arrangement...

**Everything.**


End file.
